Xánath Caraza Sílabas de viento Para el arte de Adriana Manuela Fluye sin temor la mujer, sutilmente gira. Entre nubes crecen sus anhelos. Entre lunas pierde la tristeza. Entre astros se deshace la ilusión. Fluye la mujer desde la…
Browsing: Poetry
Marianela Medrano Des/arraigar Raíz invertida quiero crecerte Madre ascenderte de una punta hasta la otra infinita. Preludiando voces en pasadizos callados fijar en la memoria tu rabia sosegada. ¿Cómo será navegar la corriente amniótica de tus tantos desgarros? Tal vez…
Juana M. Ramos Mamá se ha ido Mamá y yo hemos entrado a una iglesia, no me resulta familiar. La nave principal muy concurrida. Cerca del confesionario un sacerdote me saluda con una sonrisa tierna. En el altar un…
Mireya Perez Bustillo Mami’s Homecoming Took us a lot to get to because a single request “I want to be with papi” is not so simple if you live in different countries But there we were your three black…
Maureen Altman Hay en tus espacios, unos míos Hay en tus espacios unos míos. Hay tanto de ti en la profundidad de mí. A veces nos veo como ríos, surcamos las entrañas de la tierra. Otras pinto extensiones de…
E. Kristin Anderson Southern Cold Tonight I want to take my feet beyond the answers, just as wild as the television. I keep writing. This bitter mouth shook your name from home, slowly here. And the room is throwing…
Cheryl Clark Vermeulen The Suckling Leading Lady Let’s say Homer is a woman (Shakespeare for that matter) and an eye is burned through on a figurehead swollen with water. Splitting across an arm or a leg, desire has fallen…
Megan Leonard POEM WRITTEN WHILE I WAIT IN THE COLD ROOM AFTER THE NURSES HAVE GONE OUT BUT BEFORE THE DOCTOR COMES IN Megan Leonard’s poetry can be found most recently in Sharkpack Annual, Transom, and Reservoir. Her digital…
Rebecca Hart Olander Dysmorphia I’ve been a Super-8 movie camera in a pond trying to film my confidence, a wife, and a conversation full of silences. My job was to make things up. I have proof. Home: butter, salt, mirrors,…
Jules Jacob Broken Sonnet for Relapsing Daughters this song was yours clean without loss or metaphors yet comfort’s counterpart is pain is what I can’t spare us, is what quits speaking and walking, sinking to the carpet…